


Whale Night

by zabjade



Series: Far to Go [4]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 13:32:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6806920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zabjade/pseuds/zabjade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A couple of weeks after Buffy’s birthday, Spike and Buffy have a post-patrol whale night. Takes place between chapters 23 and 24 of Thursday’s Child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whale Night

**Author's Note:**

> This likely won't make any sense if you haven't read at least the first twenty-three chapters of Thursday's Child.

Buffy separated the freshly air-popped popcorn into two bowls, sprinkling one with parmesan and low fat butter powder and pouring a mix of blood and melted butter over the other. Spike had offered to help get the snacks ready, but he was far enough along that even light patrols wore him out. In fact, he was mostly just tagging along at this point to provide company and snarky commentary.

She’d made him sit on the couch when they’d gotten home and had given him a foot rub that had left him all but purring in lazy kittycat contentment. He was still where she’d left him, along with a bunch of chips and snack cakes and a Styrofoam cooler filled with ice and sodas. Snacks, movies, and a snuggly man. God, she loved Whale Night.

She reached for the bowls of popcorn to take them out to the living room, then froze as an idea came to her. He’d smell it and wonder what had happened, but…. She pulled out one of the sharper kitchen knives and ran it along her left forearm, collecting some of the blood in the palm of her other hand. Then she shook it over Spike’s bowl, liberally sprinkling it with Slayer surprise.

A quick wash up and use of the first aid kit kept in one of the cabinets in case of a kitchen accident, and she was ready to go to the living room. Spike watched her closely as she headed for the couch, frowning slightly as he stared at the strip of gauze wrapped around her arm.

“Buffy,” he said quietly, the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes both saying clearly that he didn’t think he was worthy of her blood. He didn’t object – outwardly at least – to the four ounces she’d been giving him daily, but more than that and he seemed to think he was taking advantage of her or something. “You shouldn’t –”

“You need it.” She cut him off. “It’s good for you and the baby.”

Honestly, the thought of her blood being used as a popcorn topping gave her the wiggins, but it really was good for him and the baby. It was full of all kinds of slayery goodness. _Buffy Summers, an excellent part of a pregnant vampire’s complete breakfast,_ she thought wryly as she handed him his bowl before sitting beside him. _Or dinner, in this case, I guess. Afternoon snack at the very least._

He scooted a little closer and hesitantly held his arm out without quite looking at her, almost like he expected her to reject the silent invitation. She immediately snuggled against him, her hand slipping under his sweater and palm cupping the curve of his belly as his arm settled around her shoulders. Sharing the baby’s soul seemed to have made him oddly shy at times.

_No,_ she realized. It hadn’t made him shy, it had just intensified what was already there to the point where it sometimes pierced the layers of swagger and bravado he’d built up over the decades to hide it.

“Don’t deserve you, love,” he said softly as he turned on the TV and switched to something badly dubbed and already in progress. “You should have someone better.”

She wanted to yell at him and tell him to stop being stupid, but that wasn’t the way to go when he got like this. He’d just take whatever she said and internalize it, letting it slice him up inside and believing he deserved it all.

“I should have someone who loves me without trying to control me or run my life,” she said, keeping her voice calm and even. “Someone who accepts every single part of me – even the not so nice parts – and doesn’t expect me to be something I’m not. Someone who loves me too much to ever leave me.” She paused to take a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I can’t tell you who you do or don’t deserve, but I know _I_ deserve _you_.”

He didn’t say anything, just swallowed hard and looked at her with eyes that managed to be both misty and bright at the same time. Then he leaned in closer and gently kissed her, a soft brush of his lips that was both sensual and sweet.

“Eat your popcorn,” she murmured breathily. “Or it’ll get all cold and ucky.”

He laughed softly at her word choice, all of the tension draining out his body as he just held her against him. He ate some of the popcorn, which finally reminded Buffy of her own. She pulled her hand out from under Spike’s sweater, scooping up a handful and eating it. The heat of the freshly popped corn had dissolved the powdered butter, leaving her hand kind of greasy as she slid it back under the sweater.

She was getting her popcorn topping all over him. _I’ll just have to lick him all clean later,_ she thought. Parmesan and butter flavored Spike. Mmmm. She petted him for a few moments, mind firmly in her current happy place instead of focused on the movie.

“I really like whale night,” she said conversationally. It was a great way to unwind after patrol. “Why do you call it that, anyway?”

Spike shifted slightly, seeming suddenly uncomfortable. She didn’t think he was going to answer, but then he sighed and muttered, “Figured if I was gonna look like a sodding whale no matter what, might as well just sit around on my arse eatin’ junk food. Can at least pretend I’ve some control over getting all fat and unattractive, yeah?”

Buffy blinked and opened her mouth, but didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure _what_ to say. How could Spike possibly think he was unattractive? As for fat, he wasn’t fat at all. Just stuffed full of baby, which, honestly, was freaking _hot_. Why did he think she kept feeling him up? Not because he was repulsive or anything, that was for damn sure.

She absently reached for more of her popcorn, trying to think of how to convince him that he was still sexy as hell. A cool, strong hand suddenly circled her wrist in a firm hold just as her fingers touched the popcorn. It felt… _wetter_ than it should, though that wasn’t quite the right way to describe it.

“Wrong bowl, love,” he said, gently pulling her hand away from it.

She watched, mesmerized, as he drew her hand towards his mouth, his tongue curling around her finger and slowly sliding up to caress the tip.

 

**…**

 

She hadn’t used a lot, but Slayer blood was potent stuff, overpowering everything else with the taste of Buffy. It sizzled through him like dancing sunbeams, more intense now that he was licking it directly from her skin. Each finger was lovingly worshiped by his tongue and sucked clean, even the ones that hadn’t any blood on them. So deceptively fragile, they were. Looked like they could be snapped like twigs, but she could easily use them to crush his head like an overripe melon if she’d a mind to. The thought of it, that frisson of danger, turned him on even more.

He nibbled his way up her pinky as he slowly pulled it out of his mouth, then down the outer side and along the edge of her hand. Her breathing came out in shallow little pants that became a shuddering moan as he read her palm with his tongue, tracing and memorizing each line. She’d a long life ahead of her, if it were up to him, one with him always there to have her back. Never alone. Never left behind.

“Spike,” she whispered, voice heavy with need.

He pushed her down to lie on her back on the couch, their popcorn falling barely noticed to the floor. Then he kissed her, plunging into the heat of her mouth, and oh god, he was drowning. Drowning in the taste of her, in her essence.

_Sunlight over wildflowers, sweet shadows in her kiss_  
_Hazel fire flaring bright and inviting me within_  
_Falling, diving, drowning in the bliss  
_ _Hazel fire burns away the sin_

He wasn’t sure if he’d said the words aloud – gasped out breathlessly between heated kisses – but it didn’t really matter. Nothing mattered except for her. He kissed her again, needing her more than blood. She was everything. She was….

He suddenly found himself on the floor, hips straddled, arms pinned above his head, and random bits of popcorn crunched beneath him. His Slayer gazed down at him, eyes bright with desire, cheeks flushed, and golden hair wild and untamed. God, she was beautiful. And she wanted him. Not just his body, but _him_.

“I like whales, you know,” she said huskily. “Especially killer whales. All black and white and deadly, but playful, too.”

_She... what?_ She liked whales?

She let go of his wrists to push the sweater up, and then…. _Oh god._ His eyes squeezed shut for a moment, a soft moan escaping him as she painted trails of liquid fire along his skin.

She lifted her head, eyes locked on his. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be a whale farmer. I’d live on a yacht and feed them all day long.”

Before he could respond to that, her head ducked back down. She started low, long, slow strokes of her tongue, going higher, then back down. Lower and lower, soon brushing along the top edge of the kilt. Bloody kilt. Better than jeans at the moment, but still….

She pulled back suddenly, scooting down to sit on his legs as she flipped the kilt up. _Don’t care if they_ are _a bunch of haggis eating barbarians, Scots are bloody brilliant,_ he thought fuzzily. Then the ability for coherent thought went right out the window as Buffy’s mouth came down on him. He gasped, hips reflexively jerking up. She held him down easily, the feel of her hands digging into him a sweet pain that only intensified the pleasure.

Warm. So bloody warm, and her tongue, god, mimicking what he’d done to her fingers, swirling and caressing. Tasting him like he was chocolate and she’d gone without for months. Just a hint of teeth, gently scraping and nibbling before skating that line of almost too much.

Wild, heaving breaths. Didn’t need it, but he _did_. Air was life. Pulled it into his lungs through his mouth. Oh god, he could practically _taste_ her, the heady perfume of her arousal like a thick spoonful of honey on his tongue. It pushed him even closer to the edge. Almost there, circling and swirling as she licked and sucked him down.

Then she was suddenly gone, but only long enough to shuck her pants before she was on him again. But now she was straddling his hips again, taking him deep inside. If her mouth had been molten lava, this was like being engulfed within the core of the bloody sun.

She rode him, head thrown back in ecstasy, breasts swaying in time to the movement of her hips. He may have been a poet – albeit a terrible one – but she was poetry itself made manifest. Erato come to Earth from Olympus to give him a slice of heaven.

She leaned in towards him, her hands wandering, caressing until they found his shoulders and pinned him down again, just like…. _No. Don’t think on it, you poncy git. Bloody well_ past _that now._ With a low growl, he flipped them. He was vaguely aware of knocking into the coffee table, scooting it a foot or so across the room and knocking the cooler down near them. None of that mattered. Just the woman beneath him. He pulled away just enough to reposition so he could drive into her, finding just the right angle to make her cry out in pleasure and arch against him.

Oh god, the sound and smell of her…. He went for her throat, the chip sending a warning tingle through his brain as he bit down with blunt human teeth. He could feel her pulse, warm and alive, rapid with mounting pleasure.

Buffy’s arm flailed suddenly, grabbing at something. There was a metallic crunch and a fizzy sound, and she pushed him away from her neck so she could slash at it with a piece of soda can. He closed his mouth over the shallow cut, drinking her down.

Sunlight burning him from the inside out, pleasure searing along his nerve endings. Slayer… _Buffy_ straight from the tap. Just as potent and unbelievable as the first time he’d tasted her. He wouldn’t be able to last much longer. He sucked hard at the wound, lapping at it and letting his saliva seep into her bloodstream.

“Oh god!” Buffy cried out and arched under him, her entire body going taut and rigid for a moment as her orgasm hit her.

Spike’s followed only a second later, leaving them both in a panting heap of mutual afterglow. He nuzzled her and lazily flicked his tongue along the cut a few times before reluctantly giving in to the fact that the position they were in was bloody uncomfortable with the sprog in the way. He rolled to his side, taking Buffy along with him.

“Mmm…. Sexiest killer whale ever,” she murmured, snuggling against him.

Not the words he most wanted to hear from her, but he knew what she meant. He kissed her, slow and sweet. “Love you, too, Buffy.”


End file.
